Category Archives: parenting

‘Twas the Night before Thanksgiving

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photo 2As we encroach on our day to give thanks, I can’t help but feel that the one holiday that asks so little from everyone gets the short end of the (drum)stick.  Thanksgiving is the middle child between two exuberant personalities.  It’s the five-minute placeholder between two lavish, sparkly neighbors.  They’re the envied ones with the lights, mystery, and a plethora of parties that lead up to the big day. Volumes of books mark the meaning and document the excitement behind two well-heeled holidays whose stories are told and re-told in countless fashion. Everyone gets caught up in the shivering excitement that begins a half-year before the actual day. Cue the Halloween costumes and Christmas party attire and everything else just blends into the carpet. Admittedly no one is rushing to get the ‘perfect Thanksgiving outfit’.

The little angels and I walked into CVS the other day and Christmas had thrown up in the store. It had been easing its way in for months.  There were more Santas, reindeer, ornaments, striped socks, dog and cat outfits, and mountains of chocolate than even in large department stores.  Aisle upon aisle was burgeoning with all things Christmas. Child-sized mechanical carolers held buckets of what else?  Stocking stuffers! Then, like the little kid in the back of the lunch line, quiet and unobtrusive amongst overbearing playmates, there was a mere handful of items dangling from metal hangers featuring a few wooden turkeys and caricatures of smiling pilgrims in varied shades of brown.  Ah, so easy to ignore among the deafening sounds of singing Santas, Elvises, and Nutcrackers. Not once did either of my children scream, “Mommy, please oh please can we get that really cool rocking pilgrim and hang it on the door?”photo

This past July in North Carolina, my girls and I were red-faced, dripping with sweat and drinking our ice cream in 100% heat and humidity.  We walked by a cotton warehouse-turned-retail oasis with the words “Air-conditioned” beaming through the hot haze. Cool air poured onto us and scents of cinnamon danced in the air. We stumbled in as if cement blocks were tied to our flip-flops. There before us amidst tourist traps filled with tacky t-shirts and flavored pecans was “Ye Olde Christmas Shoppe” complete with holiday music, a dozen or so lit trees and walls of ornaments and wreaths made out of driftwood and seashells. With sticky fingers and bright eyes my little angels were entranced, speechless.  Yep, here we were. Christmas in July.  No amount of coaxing could pull them away from the eye candy before them (and ice cream was no longer an option).  People were actually shopping because time was a-tickin’. The big day was only five months away. I still can’t get my head around seeing year round Christmas stores, even having them make frequent appearances in my southern upbringing. I refuse to buy a winter coat in the summer and certainly refuse to buy a bathing suit in December.  I am horrified by the push of the retail industry speeding up our lives and forcing us to think that we must get it now! Or else someone else will! God forbid.

I miss my Southern Thanksgiving with tables of rainbow colored jell-o salads, deep-fried turkeys, a mega variety of stuffing, pies galore, and real buttermilk biscuits (the sweetened iced tea I can do without). I miss the long tables atop my aunt’s deck that overlook the waterway filled with four generations of relatives. I miss watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the football games, even though I could care less who played. Thanksgiving to me was always more than a placeholder.  It was when everyone made it to the table.  You could always count on it.  Christmas is when families disburse.Thankful_thumb

Be thankful for your dysfunctional family, for wine, that your friends still like you, and that there are leftovers. Be thankful for this ‘bump in the road’ called Thanksgiving so that you can slow down before attacking shopping malls for needless items and overspending.  Be thankful for new beginnings and remember to give this shy holiday the attention it deserves.                               Happy Thanksgiving!

Tammy

Wine makes daily living easier, less hurried, with fewer tensions and more tolerance. — Benjamin Franklin

Catfights in the Sandbox

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A couple of days ago my ten year old scored at her volleyball game. She pumped the ball thirteen times before popping it over the net and she scored!  Yes, it was a really big deal, partly because of how elated (and in shock) she was.  And for me, to know that she weighed a mere four pounds when she was born and now she’s playing volleyball of all sports was an emotional double take! My eight year old leaned over and asked if I was crying. I didn’t think it was obvious so I explained they were happy tears and that I was so proud. “So if I get really really really happy, I’m going to start crying? That doesn’t make any sense Mommy.” Nothing like that rubber band to snap you out of your moment:)IMG_1122

I remember when my oldest was born and my dad said “she’s not even as big as a five pound bag of sugar.” She was healthy, just tiny. No explanations why. As a new mom, I couldn’t help but worry but after lots of reassurance from the doctor and my intuition, I knew she was ok. Funny how things shifted on the playground. That’s where I endured endless chatter of those moms whose children were smarter, bigger, faster, slept longer, ate more, cried less, talked earlier, walked quicker,  had more hair, more teeth, anything that could give that mom a home court advantage over us visitors. They could smell the fear in new moms and rather than give comforting advice, they would wave those percentile charts over our heads like victory flags. (My child barely if rarely was even on those charts). More than once I left the park clutching the remainder of my nonfat latte in one hand maneuvering my non-cooperative stroller with the other wondering if I had just made more organic baby food or switched to cloth diapers or nursed EVEN LONGER, maybe then my child’s head circumference would be in the 80th percentile!

I finally migrated to the moms who’s kids were the ones eating sand and they just smiled and cooed at them without concern. They were the ones who weren’t worried their children would catch a cold being barefoot in November or that their child didn’t get into the baby Mozart class with all the other perfect children. Looking back it was always their second or third child. They learned from the first, that barefeet and sand snacks wouldn’t kill them. And that was brilliant advice to me. I, too, let go of the fear with my second one. I tossed those awful baby books that convinced me of all the possible things that could go wrong with my child. Remember them? The ones that we read like a bible daily to guide us through pregnancy and baby years. They guided me alright-into sheer panic.

images-8And now, I have two extremely different children whose interests are polar opposites. I have one with the intensity and focus of a laser with artistic ability far beyond her eight little years. And another who floats around the room like a butterfly who connects the dots of life in a unique pattern all her own. They keep me guessing everyday as to who they will become. It’s exciting to watch and I hope everyday goes slow.

In the chaos of daily parental Olympics, the competition is exhausting to me.  Everyone is racing for gold. I wholeheartedly admit I run towards the back of the pack at times, and it’s not because I don’t want my kids to excel. I refuse to get tangled in the drama. It’s a fine line of pushing your child to their max to succeed and pushing them in the opposite direction. It’s the difference between encourage and force. We decide where that line is drawn.

So fast forward a few years and my little four pound baby is now playing volleyball. I won’t remember who she played or if her team won. But I will remember that she played. And even scored! I’ll remember that she laughed with her teammates and looked cute in her uniform. And that I sat on the sidelines with tears of joy.

So, if my children don’t make straight A’s and O’s in elementary school, will this lead to a mediocre academic life with no chance at a 5.0 GPA and no college acceptance?  Should I have painted their walls in primary colors versus pastels to boost their IQ? I’m going to walk away from this sandbox with confidence and know that they’ll do great. Call it Mom’s intuition.

Tammy 

“There’s a crack in everything.  That’s how light gets in.”  Leonard Cohen